Fire!
by fragrantfields
Summary: Fandom: Deadwood Gen Rating T for language, brief sexual reference  Spoilers for Season 3  Imaginary 4th season   Where there's smoke, there's fire...2:00 am in Deadwood, and something is getting ready to go very wrong
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: this will include all the Deadwood characters over time. **

**This is based on the fire of September 1879, which burned down most of the town and is as historically accurate as possible, with a liberty or two taken along the way**

**All characters and concepts other than historical ones belong to David Milch and HBO**

**No money getting made here**

**According to Milch, Season 4 would have included the fire. I have no idea where he would have taken that, but this is my imagining of how it would have gone.**

**This will be only my stories, but on LJ, I am collaborating with two fine writers who also mourn Deadwood's untimely passing, and there they have added their own chapters featuring the characters I seem to have given short shrift here.**

**Fire!**

The last of the customers was buttoning his pants while Dolly was stifling a yawn with one hand, stroking his shoulder with the other. As he left her room, she slipped his dollar tip into her drawstring purse. She went to her washstand to clean up before joining Mr. Swearengen upstairs. She was dead on her feet; midway through washing between her legs and under her arms, she decided to take a quick nap before going upstairs.

Miner payday always ran the girls ragged and knew she'd catch hell if weariness made her give him a careless blow-job while she fought sleep. She threw a clean sheet over the come-stained one and wrapped up in the sheet and blanket. He would still be awake an hour from now…he rarely slept before false dawn anyway. She could nap for a little while, blow him with some energy, and both could sleep before the business day proper began. She curled into a ball and drifted off.

.

.

Trixie was restless in Sol's bed tonight. He was sound asleep, stretched thin that day by a big order of supplies coming into the hardware store while Bullock had spent the day in horse-trading business with the livery owner. Then Mrs. Ellsworth had needed his help at the bank, with deposits of cash and specie coming in one after another. Trixie had been through the false door for a good two hours before he finally got home to a now-cold supper of elk roast, bread, and the last of the tomatoes and corn from the greengrocer's. She'd made sandwiches and poured a glass of beer for him, having eaten hours earlier.

A lifetime of working in the wee hours made it hard for Trixie to fall asleep before midnight. She finally got up and paced in the living room, occasionally looking out at the night sky. Her skin prickled as goose-bumps rose and fell on her arms. The evening wasn't that cold for September…she pulled her shawl around her shoulders as she paced, feeling that something was not right in their world. She opened the front door and stepped out to light a cigarette. Sol hated her to smoke inside. It was close to 2:00 AM; she doubted any prying eyes would see her on his front porch.

.

.

Al put the day's receipts in his safe. He went to the hallway and looked over the sleepy saloon. Johnny and Dan were leaned back in chairs at a back table, idly playing a hand of cards while waiting for the last customers to leave. Davy was half-asleep at the bar, stirring now and then to wipe down the wood from habit. Once, the joint would have been jumping until cock's crow. Now, especially when the clientele had ample money to spend and no need to stretch out a dollar, business hit hard and fast. Al figured he'd finish tallying up the receipts, prepare deposit slips for the next business day, and send for Dolly.

Taking up sharp pen and ink to write out tomorrow's paperwork, he thought of getting to the bank early, right after opening. With any luck, Mrs. Ellsworth would be there and Starr would be starting his day at the hardware store before stepping over to the bank. He enjoyed taking a few minutes to chat with her before the day's rush began. He decided to forgo Dolly's comforts before retiring tonight. He expected she was pretty fucked out anyway, and a decent night's sleep would do them both good.

Finishing his next day's paperwork, he took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He poured the night's last shot of whisky and checked his pocket watch. Already past 2:00 AM. He stepped out on his balcony, the bracing September air momentarily blowing away his sleepiness. The shot would help with that, he thought, as he leaned against the outer wall and drank. He looked up at the blazing stars in the coal-black night sky.

.

.

At the livery, Fields stirred on his office cot, unable to get settled. Damn horses were restless tonight. Normally, at this hour of the morning, all would be standing like statues, head down, legs stiffened in sleep. The wall next to him trembled as a horse's flank on the other side bumped against it. Now he could hear shifting hoofs, a curious wicker. He sighed. Attuned to possible danger from a lifetime of close calls, he rose and laid his hand on his rifle. He was sure he'd locked the livery against potential horse thieves, but another walk-through wouldn't hurt. Then maybe he could get a few hours solid sleep before the day began.

.

.

E.B. Farnum got up to piss and heard soft footsteps on the stairs. He poked his head out incuriously, expecting one of the hotel guests arriving back after some late-night depraved debauchery so readily available in Deadwood. He was surprised by the sight of Richardson on the landing, his antler talisman raised towards the stuffed moose head in supplication.

"Richardson! You imbecilic toad! What in God's name, or whatever pagan god you deify tonight, are you doing? It's gone 2:00 in the morning! I'll not have you frightening the returning fornicators and drunkards with your nonsense. Explain yourself!"

The hollow-eyed old man turned and looked sadly at the hotelier, hair flying in all directions.

"I'm prayin' no one loses their life this day, and that we all be delivered from the coming destruction. Failing that, I'm prayin' that those who must leave this earthly life have a quick and painless journey."

"Richardson, have you polluted what passes for your mind with strong drink and other intoxicants? Leave off your pagan antics and go to bed at once!"

The old man looked solemnly at the mayor. Normally acquiescent to Farnum's wishes, he drawled a soft "No," and held up his antlers again.

.

.

Al took a last look at the night sky, wondering for a split second why the moon had become not only full, but was casting a flickering light. Then the smoky smell of burning bread and wood reached his nostrils.

.

Trixie stubbed out her cigarette yet it seemed to go on burning. She felt along the side of the house to see if she'd accidentally scorched the wood. The wood was cool, but the burning smell continued, growing stronger.

.

General Fields saw no one in the barn, but the horses continued to move restlessly, a few now whinnying. He opened the door to see if anyone lurked outside. He saw the wisps in the night air before the smell of smoke reached his nose.

.

All across Deadwood, the thought began dawning on those still awake a little after 2:00 AM…something was burning.

.

_Something big._

_._

From his perch on his balcony, Al was the first one to see the flames shooting up from the bakery down the thoroughfare. He was at the door into his office when he looked back and saw flames leap to the next building. He grabbed the brass bell still on his desk, ran into the hall, and starting ringing it as he yelled "FIRE!" Over his own din, watching his boys spring to life, he could hear echoing racket from the street, as bells, whistles, and other screams of "FIRE!" filled the air.

.

September 26, 1879, was barely two hours old when Deadwood went up in flames.

.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: this will include all the Deadwood characters over time.**

**This is based on the fire of September 1879, which burned down most of the town and is as historically accurate as possible, with a liberty or two taken along the way**

**All characters and concepts other than historical ones belong to David Milch and HBO**

**No money getting made here**

**According to Milch, Season 4 would have included the fire. I have no idea where he would have taken that, but this is my imagining of how it would have gone.**

**This will be only my stories, but on LJ, I am collaborating with two fine writers who also mourn Deadwood's untimely passing, and there they have added their own chapters featuring the characters I seem to have given short shrift here.**

**Fire!**

General Fields could feel the heat coming in waves from the flames as he unlatched stall after stall. Two local men rushed in, helping by grabbing halters and throwing shirts over the horses' faces. Once loosed, the animals had no hesitation in fleeing from the approaching flames. They fled east, away from the fires and towards the creek. Fields grabbed his rifle, threw it in the cart where Steve lay, and threw his wiry back into getting away from the flames. A man he didn't know grabbed a handle and they pulled and ran, Steve's unfocused eyes jittering this way and that.

Harry Manning and Tom Nuttall raced for Deadwood's first fire trucks. Harry had visions of being a town hero until he took a good look at the wall of fire that had started licking at the first fire truck. They both joined the fleeing crowd that was growing. The heat was turning the thoroughfare that had been hard with late September frost to the slippery gooey mud of summer.

Al threw his till into the solid office safe and ran downstairs. Dan and Johnny were grabbing any reluctant or drug-addled whores and shoving them through the back hall into the street behind the Gem, yelling for them to follow the crowd. A few were still in their shoes. The others ran barefoot into the mud. Soot and ashes burned their eyes as they tried to hold hands as best they could. The few who looked westward saw the flames through the still standing buildings. Bare feet were cut and bled on creek rocks as they scrambled through the freezing water and up the eastern slope.

Whores out, Dan and Al grabbed up a terrified Jewel who had been struggling to make her way to the door. Al turned her so she was balanced on Dan's shoulders and they headed out the back. He was at the threshold when a mighty explosion knocked him back and made his ears ring. The flames had found the building where great quantities of gunpowder had been stored just that week, brought in to use for blasting in the mines.

_Fuckin' effective_, he thought, shaking his head to clear it as he started running with the crowd. Through the buildings, he could see a similar stream of humanity, queues and tunics fluttering as the inhabitants of Chink Alley fled from their quarters one street over.

A brisk wind from the east blew some of the blinding smoke back towards the fire, clearing the vision enough for the able-bodied to see the few inebriants who hadn't roused themselves yet. Unnamed men lost precious seconds pulling up strangers and getting them to stumble towards safety.

The same wind provided more air to feed the flames. Within minutes of the alarm, those closest to the fires could hear the crashing, grinding sound of structures collapsing to the ground. Those within earshot found new bursts of speed in the race away from the burning town.

Charlie Utter said a silent prayer for Jane, hoped she was sober enough to flee. He could see the crowd moving in the patterns that had been suggested at the summer town meeting: away from the fire, towards the nearest creek and cleared land. They had thought, then, that the roads and creeks surrounding the camp would act as natural fire breaks. He reckoned they'd know soon enough if they had been right.

Blazanov had tried to throw his equipment in a cart but once he saw the conflagration through the window, he knew he'd not be able to disconnect it in time. He took precious seconds to telegraph 'fire in deadwood help ", pulled Merrick away from his press, and turned down the back alley and towards the creek. Merrick lumbered at a slow run, coughing in the smoke and vowing to lose weight if he survived. He tried to push Blazanov to run ahead. The Russian spared two breaths to yell a heavily accented _"Fuck you!_" as he paced himself with his heavy friend, bracing Merrick's arm with his.

Al veered from the direct line he had to the creek to move towards Alma's house. Ahead, he saw Bullock standing fucking still, equidistant from the Bullock house and the Ellsworth house. Only one or two seconds, but to Al, Bullock's immobility lasted an insanely long time. He saw the Number 10 saloon collapse out of the corner of his eye and shoved Bullock hard, towards the Bullock house. The tiny creek would afford little delay. Bullock gave Al a distraught glare and opened his mouth. Al answered before the question was asked.

"I'll get her and the child! Go get your fucking _wife_!"

An observer from one of the surrounding mountains might have seen the blaze falter while it spent itself consuming the Gem, the Bella Union, the hotel, and a dozen other businesses and homes, as if those structures were more flavorful meat to the fire's hungry belly. Exploding liquor bottles made a cacophony of shattery pops that blended into the noise.

Cy Tolliver had headed behind the Bella Union and across the alley, moving southeast towards creek and road. He hoped Con and Tess, or whoever was managing the whores this week, had gotten them moving in the right direction. Bad enough to think about rebuilding, without counting the cost of buying a whole new stable of girls. He saw men moving with agitation by Doc Cochran's but didn't slow down to see what that was all about. He'd ask later if he thought about it.

Al ran towards Alma, barefoot and in her night-robes, Sofia holding her hand. He realized Adams was on his right. Without being told, Adams scooped up Sofia, whispered, "I've got you. Don't be scared and hang on tight!" Sofia laid her cheek against his beard and put her arms around his neck, holding hard.

Alma took one step towards Adams before Al pulled her forward, huffing out "_He's got her_" from smoky lungs. Alma stumbled twice on her robes before Al unsheathed his knife and ripped a couple of feet of fabric off the bottom. Alma looked over his back as he stooped down and saw the hardware store go down in flames. They followed Adams and Sofia across the creek to the unnamed shortcut road to Spearfish, hard packed and nonflammable.

The fire cast enough light, barely, for Al to make out Trixie and Starr, him still in his usual hat, in the crowd up ahead. _He must sleep in that thing_, he thought. He could see two tall figures, one in a dress, make their way over to those two. By their stature and proximity, he figured that was Mr. and Mrs. Bullock. He hoped that good woman hadn't seen her husband's momentary hesitation between houses. Surely the flow of the crowd and the darkness had hidden that idiotic lapse of decency_. The Apocalypse must be upon us, if I'm judging the Sheriff's decency_. Elections or no, Bullock would always be Sheriff in his mind.

The crowd had slowed now, with even the stragglers fording the creek and roadbed. Up above the gully from which Deadwood had been carved, small knots of people, grimy-black and coughing, drew together into larger groups and watched.

The crossroad at the end of town seemed to be acting as its own natural firebreak. After the Bella Union and the hardware store, the fiery wall had stuttered as if unsure of the best direction for more fuel. It licked in one direction, then another, finally falling back onto itself as it finished consuming the last commercial block.

The few religious in town thought perhaps God's judgment had relented once the dens of vice and sin were consumed. The purveyors of vice thought to themselves, in a variety of phrasings, that it appeared the fire had shot its wad. Whatever the chosen metaphor, it was apparent that the fire had blazed so hot and so fast that it had no energy left to make the leap to the further houses. Still dark, it was impossible to tell what was left, what still stood along the thoroughfare.

Alma's teeth were chattering as she shifted from bare foot to bare foot. The ground was coated with a thin layer of frost. She kept a hand on Sofia's back as Adams continued to hold little girl.

AL draped his jacket over her shoulders, looked at her feet, and quirked a corner of his lip as if he couldn't believe what he was about to do. It was still dark enough, and she was a pretty light woman…

"Don't take this as I'm gettin' fresh, okay?"

"What-?"

He pulled her into his arms. Before she could react to this unexpected and unrequested embrace, he rumbled into her ear, "You ever dance with your Daddy when you were little, your feet on his?"

She pulled back and looked at him, green eyes in a smoke-blacked face. She almost laughed.

"When I was very, very little."

"Okay, lightly, and I mean_ lightly_, step up on my boots. We gotta get your feet off the frost before they start turning blue."

"Mr. Swearengen, have you lost your_ mind?_"

"You're already being seen in the arms of the wickedest man in Deadwood, Mrs. Ellsworth. Might as well get something for it."

He braced himself as she lightly, lightly stepped onto the top of his boots, one foot, then the other. They felt warm and solid. She grabbed his shoulder for balance, keeping one hand on Sofia. Adams silently laughed behind his beard, afraid to meet Al's eyes for fear of laughing too hard to hold the child.

"Uh…Mrs. Ellsworth, can you reach down and bring up my pocket-watch?"

Both his hands were at her back to steady her. She reached down between their bodies, barely registering the warmth and firmness of his chest and belly before she pulled the watch up by its chain. Bracing the watch between her hand and his arm, she opened it, made out the numbers by the moonlight, and drew in a sharp breath.

"What?"

Her head spun. She could see so little left in the flickering light of the embers and lagging flames. So little left of the town. Twelve hours ago, there had been so much activity, buying and selling and living, that it was hard to cross the thoroughfare for the crowds.

"It's…4:30."

AL thought he could hear the same short sentence whispered all around him, from all the groups that gathered in safety. People instinctively moved closer to those with whom they huddled, needing to touch, to hold, to seek and give comfort.

_Two hours. All gone in two hours. How could so much go so fast? It's only been two hours._

The first weeping started in the distance, over the first recognition of loss. A letter, a picture, a livelihood, tools of trades, clothes and shoes. Beloved books. Locks of hair of loved ones in lockets left on dressers. New stock to sell, just come in that day.

Adams stood awkwardly close to Al so Sofia could hug her mother. Alma caught a glimpse of Seth over Sofia's shoulder, eyes moving away before he saw her. He was comforting Martha, just now starting to think of her school. Alma closed her eyes and breathed in the smells of Al and smoke. If she could rest for just a minute…without thinking, she moved her arms around his neck. If asked, she would have said it was for balance. The heat of her breasts under the thin nightclothes, the warm pressure of her thighs near his prick almost distracted him from the Gem's destruction. He leaned his cheek into her hair as he tried to remember amounts of lumber, frames and hardware, fixtures and stock.

In the distance, he heard a military bugle, signaling troops, perhaps from Fort Meade. He remembered seeing Blazanov at the telegraph when he went by the open door.

"Your feet get a break?" He pulled away.

"Yes, thank you." She stepped off of his boots onto the cold ground.

"Sun'll be up soon, we can start seeing what's what. For now, you and the child need to stay with Adams."

He wiped his face with his hands, smearing the soot with sweat but clearing some off. He nodded at Adams, touched Alma's shoulder.

"Okay, then. Time to get to work."

He strode off in the direction of horses and men. In swirls and eddies, women and children gathered together. He was glad to see Bullock, Starr, Tom, Charlie Utter and the others who had sat at meeting tables with him in the past, all making their way towards the small detachment. He figured Doc, Cy, and Johnny and the others were around here somewhere. He saw a wagon here and there, people who had managed to load some goods before heading towards safety.

He and the others were still asking each other "Are you okay?" "Are you all right?" "Anybody hurt?", clapping shoulders and touching arms, the way hard men do after danger has passed, when the sun rose to start a new day in Deadwood.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: this will include all the Deadwood characters over time.**

**This is based on the fire of September 1879, which burned down most of the town and is as historically accurate as possible, with a liberty or two taken along the way**

**All characters and concepts other than historical ones belong to David Milch and HBO**

**No money getting made here**

**According to Milch, Season 4 would have included the fire. I have no idea where he would have taken that, but this is my imagining of how it would have gone.**

**This will be only my stories, but on LJ, I am collaborating with two fine writers who also mourn Deadwood's untimely passing, and there they have added their own chapters featuring the characters I seem to have given short shrift here.**

**Fire!**

Deadwood: The Day After

Dawn was coming over Deadwood, sun struggling to shine through clouds of smoke down in the gulch. Through the light smoky haze, the smell of campfire coffee made its way through to the milling crowd. General Sturgis had ordered barrels of clean water, coffee, pots and cups be off-loaded first, having weathered his share of disasters from men and nature. He knew the solace and energy a decent cup of joe could bring.

Smoke-stained hands reached for blankets being handed out by the troops from Ft. Meade. A semblance of an order emerged among the town refugees. Previously sorted by occupation, status, or wealth, now groups were formed from the injured, the sick, and the ones with the least on their backs. Men kissed wives and hugged children as they helped them step up into the wagons before the men headed back to town.

The better-dressed whores milled about in some confusion, trying to guess what course would be less likely to get them in dutch with Cy Tolliver. Finally, Joanie Stubbs approached an older, bewhiskered soldier holding wagon reins and quietly told him of the whores' "damned if you do, damned if you don't" dilemma.

Sergeant White nodded gravely, intelligent brown eyes assessing the group. He had known a number of camp followers and whores, past and present, and understood the fear most had of running afoul of their bosses. He began pointing at various women in ripped petticoats and fancy colored satin corsets, making eye contact before ordering them into his wagon. The decision taken out of their hands, the Bella Union girls looked relieved as they were handed blankets and helped up into the wagon bed.

Sergeant White noticed that none of them seemed to be looking through the throngs of men for their pimp. He thought there was probably a story there, as he turned his wagon around to head back to Ft. Meade. He hoped the tents would be up and in place by the time they arrived. No good could come of half-dressed fancy women milling around the parade grounds while officers' wives and daughters began waking to the day.

.

The men of the Gem followed Al Swearengen down the slope to the streets still hot with embers and slow-burning wood. Tom Nuttall, Harry Manning, and other Number 10 men were already well into town, hooking up the one remaining fire hose to the town water supply. Too late to save anything, they could at least start cooling down the remnants to hasten the work of the day.

As he walked by, Al could see that the Bullock house, Alma's house, and the schoolhouse appeared to be untouched, other than stains from the smoke blown from the blaze. He had seen her and Sofia as he left after speaking to the officer commanding the troops. She had gathered with Trixie and Martha Bullock, and the two or three camp children who had been clutching their teacher's skirts. His girls were gathered close to Trixie, shoulders covered with borrowed blankets. One of his huskier girls stood near Alma, holding Sofia and while Alma handed out coffee brewed by Martha over a small rock-ringed fire.

He motioned the men to stop at a tent that had escaped the flames, rummaged around, and took out a thin tattered blanket. He figured he could settle with the owner later, as he and the others cut it into long strips to wrap around their hands. He added "work gloves" to his mental list of things to obtain as soon as possible.

He saw a familiar figure…two familiar figures, pulling at charred wood with cloth-wrapped hands. It took him a second to recognize they were at what was left of Star & Bullock Hardware. Through the destruction, he could make out the square lines of the store safe, and what was left of ax heads, saws, and a few objects too twisted by heat to recognize.

Al, Dan, Johnny, and Silas stood with Davy and the rest, looking at the ashes left of the Gem. Some of the town water had been sprayed over the wreckage, steam and smoke curling up in the morning light.

_"Damn._" This, almost reverently from Dan.

"Okay, boys, this ain't my first fire. First, we look for the safe."

Al and the men carefully stepped over cinders and rubble until they could make out where the safe would have fallen when the structure collapsed. A steady stream of weary men trickled past as they worked, a few pulling themselves out of the crowd here and there to start working on a particular mound of smoldering wreckage.

Close to the thoroughfare, charred wood and twisted iron all around, Al spotted his heavy iron safe. He and the others slowly cleared a way, mindful of stepping on hot embers as they went. Eyes watered as the rising smoke stung and made them hack and cough, spitting black phlegm. Johnny diverted for a second to peer into the cellar, now revealed by the burned-out floor. Heavy timbers set in the cellar's earthen ceiling were covered with lighter scorched wood from the main structure, but had held.

"Boys!"

Al and Dan pulled the last pieces of the Gem off the heavy Diebold safe. Al waved the rest over to form a screen for his opening the safe. Davy seemed doubtful. He leaned towards Johnny.

"Johnny, you think there's anything left in there besides some melted-together gold?"

Al heard the question and answered as Johnny fumbled for a reply.

"Davy, the…items you mention will be as fully formed as they were when they put in. In fact, I anticipate currency and documents to be intact as well. They sure as fuck ought to be, seein' as how I paid close to a thousand dollars for this cocksucker."

"That's one of the new Diebolds, ain't it? I seen a couple of those up in Yankton, in the courthouse and the tax office."

Al was cleaning soot off the combination dial. "Good eye, Adams. These just came out a few years ago. Has some kind of fireproof shit betwixt and between all this metal in layers like a fancy tea party sandwich." Dial clean, he looked up.

"Uh, gentlemen? Little privacy, please?"

The men turned their backs to Al as he spun the combination lock.

"Now _that's_ what I call a fuckin' _safe_!"

They looked at their boss, on one knee in front of the huge safe. Door half open, they could see stacks of currency, bags of gold, and a smaller box of papers. Al rummaged through the papers, occasionally glancing up to check who might be near.

Johnny and Davy were visibly impressed.

"Damn, Al, every stack of—"

"Shut up, Johnny."

"I'm just sayin, that's one hell of a safe, all right."

Dan leaned over, blocking the safe's contents with his broad back. "You takin' out some cash for supplies?"

Al kept rummaging through the papers, stopping at a fancy set with an embossed seal and an elegant engraved letterhead: LIVERPOOL & LONDON & GLOBE INSURANCE COMPANY LIMITED

"Yeah, plus something better than cash." He smiled and put the folded set of papers in his inside coat pocket.

He patted his pocket as the men looked puzzled.

"My fire insurance."

He spun the lock closed.

"Johnny, you stand watch here. Dan, take this and start gettin' some local lumber coming our way. Davy, recruit anybody you can find to start clearing away the debris. Tell 'em Al Swearengen will pay top dollar for steady work on my joint."

He handed Dan a small sack of gold, enough to get the first wagons of lumber they'd need. They could barely hear the faint grinding noise of portable sawmills up on the ridge over the cracks and crashes of burned debris being pulled away.

"And a couple of tents, Dan. Find me a large enough tent to get some business going." He grinned and lightly punched Dan in the arm. "Just like the old days, hmm?"

"Boss, they said ain't gonna be no liquor sales allowed for a while. You agreed to the outlawin' of it yourself."

Al raised an eyebrow. "Don't recall anybody outlawing pussy."

Dan grinned, face streaked with soot and ashes. "No, I guess they didn't. I'll find us some tents and start roundin' up the girls."

"Adams, you come with me. We got reconnoitering to do and a telegraph to find."

A/N: Liquor sales were suspended for a week to discourage looting and gun play. Rebuilding started the day after the fire. The morning after the fire, military telegraph operators worked non-stop placing orders for building materials and supplies. Diebold safes had come out a few years before 1879 with safes that were able to withstand fires of this magnitude with no damage to paper contents.


End file.
